


The Dragon and the Rose

by emn1936



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emn1936/pseuds/emn1936
Summary: A marriage forced on them both under the pretext that it would bring peace to the land had instead yielded nothing more than enmity between them and a failed attempt at regicide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mostly to satisfy myself – to flesh out scenes I thought too short or insert scenes I wished they had included or just as a means of getting into the heads of Lizzie and Henry and have more understanding of what they were thinking and feeling throughout the series.

Chapter One

 

Though she did not recognize it at first, it started with a thank you – and a challenge met.

She had issued the invitation for him to defy custom and visit her bedchamber during her confinement as a way of cultivating her influence over him.

But also because there were moments when she saw something different in him – and she was curious to know more of the parts of him that he locked away from the rest of the world. His gratitude for her actions when the sweating sickness had gripped the city had been grudging – but sincere. And his frustration – that a marriage forced on them both under the pretext that it would engender peace in the land had instead yielded nothing more than enmity between them and a failed attempt at regicide – was genuine. 

Two days into her lying in and Lizzie was bored beyond endurance. The darkened and overly warm room and the presence of her ladies were supposed to ensure a tranquil and calming environment in which to wait out the final weeks of her pregnancy. Instead, Lizzie chafed at the forced inactivity and the gloominess of her chambers. The ever-present company of her ladies and the midwife with her daily instructions and admonitions would, she was sure, drive her mad before the child made its appearance. Already she was heartily sick of fending off Cecily’s snide comments and though her heart broke for her cousin, Maggie’s quiet sniffling and constant pleas for Lizzie to do something to free poor Teddy from the tower wore at her soul.

And as for Lady Margaret’s spies… Lizzie took great pleasure in either ignoring them completely or dropping little conversational bombs which she knew they would rush to carry back to their mistress.

She was flipping through a book, doing her best to ignore the tiny headache brewing behind her eyes as she attempted to block out Cecily’s nattering and her cousin’s plaintive sighs when the unmistakable sound of the heavily booted feet of the palace guard rang against the stone floors outside her rooms. She instinctively held out a hand to Cecily and the sisters exchanged fearful looks as the ominous sound flooded them with memories of the times they spent hiding in sanctuary as children. 

A fist thudded against the oaken door.

“Open in the name of the King!”

“Something is wrong,” Cecily said in a frightened voice. “Oh, Lizzie…”

One of her ladies scurried forward to haul open the heavy door and Lizzie slumped with relief against the pillows at the sight of her husband crossing the threshold.

“Henry,” she breathed. “You near frightened us all to death!”

“Did you… Was I mistaken, my lady? Did you not invite me to visit you here?” She saw the look of genuine confusion cross his face before he schooled his expression into its usual haughty lines.

“But Sire,” the midwife dared to breathe, “It is not the way…”

Henry turned his head and met the older woman’s indignant expression with a narrowing of his eyes. “I have it on good authority that a King can do as he will. Is that not right, wife?”

He glanced toward the bed, a sense of mischief clearly visible in his eyes. Lizzie was hard pressed not to laugh at the wide-eyed looks of horror on her ladies’ faces and the surge of pleasure she felt in the knowledge that he had chosen to defy his mother’s zealous piety to accept her challenge to visit her.

“Indeed, Your Grace. For what pleasure is there to be had in being a king if one cannot do as one pleases?”

“Just so,” he nodded and proceeded into the room. The other women gathered in small knot in one corner as he dropped into a chair next to the bed. Propping one elbow on the arm of the chair, he rested his chin on his open palm and craned his head toward the gaggle of nervous women hovering in the corner.

“You have our permission to go,” he said with an arrogant flick of his fingers toward the door. 

Cecily grabbed her cousin’s hand and hurried from the room, followed by the rest. The midwife and one of the ladies chosen by the Lady Margaret to attend to Lizzie, paused near the door. Henry raised an imperious brow at their hesitation.

“Should I call for my guard to lend either of you ladies assistance in removing yourselves from this room?” he asked in a voice made threatening for all its surface politeness.

“No, Sire,” the midwife squeaked fearfully. The two bobbed their knees in quick curtsies before quitting the room. Henry waited for one of his guard to pull the heavy door closed before sliding down to slouch in his seat. 

“They will kill themselves trying to see which one can get to my mother first,” he muttered.

An awkward silence filled the room and the scowl fell away from his face as he looked about, careful to avoid her gaze. Lounging in the chair, his indolent pose was at distinct odds with the look of shy hesitance on his face as he struggled to initiate a conversation.

“It is hot as blazes in here,” he finally muttered gruffly before lapsing back into silence. 

“Your mother wills it so.” Lizzie pushed herself up in the bed and straightened the blankets over her lap as long seconds ticked past.

“Henry. Is it your intention that we should pass the time of your visit with a quiet contemplation of the temperature of my room?”

Though delivered in a sweet tone, her words were tart with sarcasm and Henry’s cheeks flushed in response.

“I have not… That is, I have little in the way of courtly manners,” he admitted. “I have spent a lifetime in the company of soldiers and so my education is… somewhat lacking when it comes to the social niceties.”

Now Lizzie flushed, a sense of shame rushing through her. She had mockingly spoken to her mother of her boredom with his talk of a life spent in exile but now, for the first time, she found a sense of sympathy for a boy who had grown up with no home and no family save a bachelor soldier for a guardian. 

“Well,” she said in a kinder tone. “We must think of something to do whilst you visit.”

Henry stared downward in seeming fascination as his thumb spun a ring on his finger ‘round and ‘round before finally raising his gaze to meet hers.

“You and I are bound together. By marriage. By duty. By the child growing in your belly.” His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “For ill or for good, our fortunes are tied together. I am king and you are my queen. For our child and for England… I had thought perhaps we could leave the animosity between us outside this door and use this time to try to come to know one another.”

Lizzie looked down for a moment and saw the candlelight glint against the golden band of the ring he had placed on her finger at their wedding. She smoothed a hand over the hard round curve of her belly and felt his child stretch and push a foot against her fingers as if to make its presence known.

She thought of her mother and her ceaseless plots to eliminate Henry and place a York on the throne in his place and she knew Elizabeth would settle only for his death. 

As her babe rolled beneath the protective shield of her hand, she wondered what she would do, should her mother succeed. How could she explain to her child that she had turned her head and allowed the murder of its father? And she worried about the fate of the babe. Boy or girl, her child would be Henry’s heir – a Tudor, not a York, and as such its very existence would be a threat to any other who craved the throne of England. 

Henry was right. They had – the both of them – been pushed into this marriage. Lizzie knew the day was fast approaching when she would have to make her choice and she prayed that God would have mercy on her, whatever path she took.

“Alright,” she agreed. “Where shall we begin?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Must it always be so dark in here?” Henry cast a baleful look around the room on his third visit. “It is like a tomb,” he declared. “Do you like it thusly?

“No,” she sighed. “I miss knowing what time it is by the passing of the sun in the sky. But your lady mother and the midwife insist there be no outside stimulation in the room for the good of the babe.”

“Huh,” he huffed with a distasteful grunt. 

“I am lectured daily on the dangers of the excitement of your visits,” she noted with a roll of her eyes.

“Yes. I as well.” He gathered his features into a chiding look reminiscent of his mother’s dour expression and Lizzie stifled a giggle behind her fingers. 

“It would seem to me the babe is best served by the comfort and peace of mind of the mother.” Henry tapped two fingers against the arm of his chair before rising to his feet and striding decisively toward the window nearest the bed.

“Perhaps,” he said as he wrapped his fingers about the handles on the heavy shutters covering the glass, “if we were to keep it our little secret and open the shutters only while I am here…” he suggested in a conspiratorial voice.

“In at least this one thing, your Grace, I am your obedient subject.” She could not help but to clap her hands joyfully as he flung the shutters open. Blinking against the sudden brightness, she pushed aside the blankets, climbing out of the bed to move toward the window. 

The sun’s rays streamed over her pale face, illuminating her golden hair as she lifted her nose toward its warmth and he could not help but think of a rose raising its head toward the heavens.

The white rose, he thought, and for the first time acknowledged its beauty. 

Opening her eyes, she pressed her face against the glass, studying the frost glittering on the bare limbs of the trees and luxuriating in the sense of freedom gained simply by removing herself from the confines of her bed. She settled onto the padded seat of the bench beneath the window and drew her knees up as best she could against her rounded belly. So caught up was she in soaking up the rays of the sun, she was unaware of the cold seeping through the glass and was startled when her husband moved close.

“You must have a care, Lizzie.” He draped one heavy fur around her shoulders and tucked another across her legs and feet. “If you were to take a cold, not even the crown on my head would save me from a tongue lashing from my mother.”

“I will do all I can to protect you from her, Henry.” She grinned and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the furs. “Just do not make me leave this place yet.”

0o0o0o0

 

“Sugared almonds!” She squealed happily and snatched up the pouch he had withdrawn from inside his leather jerkin.

“Shh.” He wagged a chiding finger before her face. “Do you not suppose your ladies have their ears pressed against the door?” Though his features were impassive, his eyes sparkled with merriment.

Her lips puckered in an apologetic pout. 

“Sugared almonds,” she repeated in an overly loud whisper as she tore at the rawhide tie and poured a half dozen sweetened nuts into her palm. “They are my favorite.”

“I remembered you quite enjoyed them one evening after we supped. I hoped they might please you.”

“They do, thank you.” She felt an odd pang of emotion that he should remember so small a detail and think to bring them to her to lighten the gloominess of her confinement. Slipping one almond between her lips, she closed her eyes with pleasure as her teeth crunched into the sweet treat. “I am so tired of the bland diet – broths and bread and boiled fowl.” She scrunched up her face in remembered distaste and popped another almond into her mouth with a happy sigh.

Henry reached out to take a nut from her hand and was startled when she closed her fist and drew it to her breast. 

“Mine.” Eyes narrowed in a mock threat, she shook her head warningly.

“You would deny your king?” he asked with theatrical shock.

“I would call my guards to defend them from your greedy hands!” Turning toward the door, she opened her mouth as if to shout. 

“Fine.” He flopped into his chair and studied her over steepled fingers. “I will simply arrange to have the kitchen make more and then I shall horde them all for myself.”

One hand bracing her growing belly, she scrambled awkwardly onto her knees in the middle of the bed.

“Sire. You would not be so cruel as to deny your wife and child a rare treat,” she pleaded dramatically. “I will share, my lord.” She held the pouch toward him and shook two miserly almonds into the palm of his outstretched hand.

“Your generosity knows no bounds, Lizzie.”

“I know.” She fluttered her lashes and graced him with her most regal smile before snuggling back into the pillows to enjoy her treat.

0o0o0o0

 

“Mother says if the child is a boy, we shall have celebrations at court for more than a month. Banquets and hosting foreign dignitaries and dancing.” He scowled irritably toward the flames dancing in the fireplace.

“Most people enjoy parties, Henry,” Lizzie noted dryly. As always, she was perched on her padded seat at the window, tracing rivulets of water running over the glass as a cold rain fell outside.

“I am not comfortable at them,” he reminded her. “Nor do I care to make a fool of myself.”

“And how would hosting a banquet in honor of the birth of your son cause you to make of yourself a fool?” 

“I do not dance well,” he murmured glumly as he stared into the flames. 

“Nonsense!” She turned from the window to look at him. “How is that possible? Did you not spend many years in the French court?”

He shrugged, and at the expression on her face, he scowled again. 

“I was an impoverished foreigner with an unproven claim to the throne and, therefore, not a great favorite among the ladies at court. Besides, who was there to teach me?” he asked. “Jasper?” He laughed at the idea. “He is a master with the sword and bow, but a dancer he is not.”

“You must learn to dance, Henry.”

“I do not see why,” he groused. “I am king. I can do as I please.”

“Much as you may wish that to be so, it is not always true.” She shifted awkwardly and rose to her feet to stand before him. 

“Come.” She held out both hands. “I shall teach you.” 

“No.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I do not think it a good idea.”

“You are afraid.”

“If I am afraid it is only that I do not think dancing is wise in your present condition.”

“I am not suggesting we start with a galliard,” she said in a patient voice.

“A… what?”

“It is a very energetic dance.” She flicked a dismissive hand. “We shall start with something more sedate.”

“No.”

“Yes, Henry.”

He remained seated and she planted her hands on her hips, one slippered foot tapping impatiently on the floor. They stared at one another for several long minutes before he slumped forward in defeat.

“Do not complain if I step on your toes,” he muttered with ill grace, and, placing his hands in hers, allowed her to draw him to his feet.

She clapped her hands and her face glowed with giddy excitement.

“If you feel anything at all… unwell…” He flapped an impotent hand toward her swollen middle. “You must tell me immediately.”

“Henry, I feel fine. I am young and healthy and heartily tired of this enforced inactivity. I promise, our dancing will not jar the babe loose.”

He blanched at the idea and she threw her hands into the air and shook her head despairingly.

“Worry not, Sire. All is well. Now, remove that chair – and that one – so that we have room to move about.

She watched admiringly as he lifted the two heavy chairs with ease and placed them out of the way. Seeing that she stood only in her thin chemise, he lifted her robe from the foot of the bed and helped her into it, then stoked the fire until the flames blazed high.

“First, you take my hand.” She faced him and held out her hand for his, threading their fingers together. “Now, you bow and I curtsey.”

He bent at the waist and she dropped into an admittedly shallow curtsey in deference to her shifting center of gravity. 

“Then,” she moved so they stood side-by-side. “We promenade. Three steps forward and two steps back. Ready?”

He nodded and tightened his grip on her hand briefly.

“One and two and three,” she counted as they moved forward. “And then one and two back. Very good,” she beamed.

“It is walking,” Henry intoned dryly. “I am fully capable of walking.”

She laughed. 

“Now face me and place your hand against mine.” She pressed her palm to his. “And we turn once, twice.” She guided him around. “And we turn outward and repeat the sequence four times as we move across the room. Ready?”

He nodded and she began to hum as they started to dance again. After the fourth rotation, she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Then we separate and you hop in place…” She gave a little demonstration. “…while I dance around you.”

“I feel like a fool.”

He hopped twice then stopped, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and took his hand. “We start again, but this time the tempo is a bit faster.”

They moved through the dance again and she snickered when he bobbed at the knees rather than hop as she twirled around him and came to stop before him.

“Now you take me by the waist and lift me into the air, turning one full revolution before setting me back down.” 

She took his hands and placed them on her waist and they froze with a sudden awareness of the closeness of their proximity. Lizzie took one stumbling step back and gestured toward her rounded stomach. 

“B…but perhaps not right now,” she stammered. “I fear I am a bit ungainly to be lifted at the moment.”

Instead of backing away, Henry closed the gap between them. Settling his hands on her hips, he stared into her eyes and lifted her with ease. She braced her hands on his shoulders and, eyes still locked, he turned before slowly allowing her to slide back down to her feet. 

Chests heaving as if they had danced with great exertion, they strained toward one another. The babe leapt within her womb and Lizzie pressed her palm over the back of his hand. Fingers splayed wide over the place where their child lay, Henry leaned forward and took her mouth in a tender kiss.

Her heart thundered in her chest and the baby seemed to react, shifting and kicking out with one foot, catching them both by surprise at its strength.

“Oh,” she winced and laid a hand over her galloping heart. “Perhaps, I should sit down.”

All solicitation, Henry lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Tucking her in, he dragged the chair back to the side of the bed and fell into it, watching her anxiously for any sign that the exertion and stimulation of the dance had caused her any harm.

“We are fine, Henry.” She blinked at him, suddenly sleepy. “Do not worry. A little nap and all will be right.” 

He sat quietly, watching as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until she could not hold them open any longer. 

“Sleep,” he whispered and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. She murmured his name once before burying her face in the pillow and he rose from his chair to pull closed the shutters and tuck the blankets securely about her before quitting the room.


	3. Chapter 3

“What are you working on?”

Lizzie looked up from her needlework and shrugged. “The baby’s christening gown.”

“May I?” Henry set aside a goblet of wine and reached out. “So small,” he commented, fingering the soft garment. “It does not seem real sometimes, does it?”

“Perhaps a little more real for me than for you,” she said wryly and stroked a hand idly over the rounded swell of her stomach. “But, yes. It seems impossible that in so short a time I will be able to hold him in my arms. It will not be long now and he will be here.” 

She lowered her gaze, lest he see the fear she felt at the thought of facing childbirth. 

“Do you think it a boy?” Henry asked curiously.

She shrugged again. “I do not know. But that is what everyone is hoping for so it is easier to refer to him as such.”

He nodded and returned his attention to the tiny garment in his hands.

“I do not pretend to know much about the art of needlework,” he admitted as he studied the intricate stitching of a scrollwork of white vines and leaves along the border of the garment, smiling at the miniature crown centered on the fabric.

“Your work is lovely.” He handed the gown back to her, careful to hold her gaze with his own. “I have never seen stitching so fine.” He settled back against the chair again and lifted the goblet to his mouth. “I think our child will be blessed to have a mother such as you,” he said in a tone so quiet as to be nearly inaudible. “He is not yet here but your care for him is evident. He will be lucky to know a mother’s love.”

Lizzie knew he was thinking of the cruelty of a lifetime of forced separation from his own mother. She flushed at the sincerity of the compliment, ashamed to remember in those first days what lengths she had been willing to endure to rid herself of the child. The memory was abhorrent to her and she shook her head, focusing instead on the love she felt for it now.

“I regret the manner in which he was conceived.” Unaware of his wife’s private thoughts, Henry’s voice was awash with regret. He cast his gaze about the room for a moment, mortified to meet her eyes, before forcing himself to face her again. 

“I hope he never has cause to doubt the love his parents hold for him. I pray he will always know how great the anticipation of his arrival was.”

He rubbed an agitated hand over his jaw. “I beg your pardon, Lizzie,” he said. “I treated you abominably.”

“We were – neither of us – at our best,” she said remembering the waves of malice between them, the vicious barbs they had exchanged and the pleasure she had taken when striking out at him with her words. “What matters now is only the babe – and he will be well loved.”

“He will be every inch the prince in so fine a garment.” Henry nodded and raised his goblet in a toast. 

“I could make a shirt for you.” Lizzie bit her lip. She had startled herself by the impulse of her offer and could not help but see the same amazement reflected in her husband’s expression. For a moment, she wished she could call the words back but then she looked at the ill-fitting, overly large shirt engulfing his lean frame and she closed her mouth.

“I…” He plucked at his sleeve, realizing that never in his memory had he had clothes made for him by a woman of his acquaintance. “I would like that.”

0o0o0o0

“The midwife said that the baby will arrive soon.” Lizzie curled both hands under her rounded stomach. Her burden had lowered, the baby dropping in preparation for delivery. “Please, Henry. Will you not allow my mother to come to me?”

“I cannot. You know this.”

“Cannot? Or will not?”

“Either! Both!”

“Henry,” she pleaded. “I do not want to do this without her. I need my mother at my side.”

“So that she can contact Lovell again? No! I will not allow her the freedom to roam about this castle whilst she plots to end my life. Surely you can understand that!”

She quivered with indignation but knew there was no argument she could make to sway him on this matter. Elizabeth’s audacity in barely making an effort to cover her involvement in the assassination attempt had hardened him to any plea Lizzie could make on her mother’s behalf.

“Teddy, then.”

“No.” Stubbornly folding his arms across his chest, Henry swung his head back and forth. 

“He is a child, Henry. A frightened child. He is not plotting to take away your throne. Surely you can understand that.” 

She flung his words back at him angrily.

“It is not Teddy I fear –” 

“Then why not –”

“It is the people who would use him for their own means.” He held up a forestalling hand. “People like your mother who would rally an army in his name. Until she shows some loyalty, I will have no change of heart on this matter.”

“And so an innocent child must be made to suffer? Do you feel no loyalty to me? I am your wife!” She threw her hands up in anger. “Why did I expect anything better from you? From a Lancastrian?” she spat. “Vicious, backstabbing –”

“Peace, woman.” 

Henry clapped his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned close. 

“Do not speak to me of shifting loyalties,” he sneered. “Need I remind you that your mother’s family were loyal to the Lancastrian cause until she threw her fortune in with the York king?”

“My father –”

“Your father was the enemy of your mother’s family. Your mother was made a widow when her first husband died fighting your father’s army. Your grandmother was a personal favorite of Margaret of Anjou and yet they easily cast those loyalties to realign themselves with the side of the victor.”

“They had no choice.”

“And why should the same argument not hold true now? Now I am the victor and you are my wife, yet your mother plots endlessly to remove me from the throne.”

“A throne which should have passed rightly to my brother, Edward, were he not murdered,” Lizzie snarled.

“Your brothers did not die by my hand or by my order,” Henry countered nastily. “You might wish to look closer to those you loved if you wish to find their killer.”

Lizzie blanched.

“Richard would never –”

“Your blind loyalty to him is maddening. Richard had your mother’s brother executed on trumped up charges. T’was Richard who had your brothers locked in the Tower. He had your parents’ marriage declared invalid and named you and your siblings bastards – and all of that so he could steal the throne from your brother!” He snarled and pushed away from her chair.

Pacing across the room he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the door.

“Now I am king,” he flung over his shoulder. “And in your belly lies our child who, if a boy, will be my heir and the future king of England. Mayhap, madam, it is time you reevaluate your position and just where your loyalties should lie.”

Yanking the door open, he quit the room while she sat in stunned silence.

 

0o0o0o0

 

His next visit brought with it an awkward silence as neither knew what to say to the other in the wake of their argument. He had brought with him another pouch of sugared almonds – but offered no words of apology. In truth, it mattered not as her appetite was non-existent in the waning days of her confinement.

The words they had flung at one another in anger played on a relentless loop in her head, threatening her sleep. The baby’s position pressed unmercifully on her bladder. She was exhausted from her numerous trips to the water closet and her back ached relentlessly, preventing her from finding any position of comfort.

Heaving herself from the bed, she paced slowly about the room, one hand trailing over various pieces of furniture to help maintain her balance, the other rubbing at the base of her spine, all the while conscious of his gaze following her halting progress.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, she wrapped one hand around the bedpost, letting out a low cry as pain lanced through her lower back.

Henry rose at the sound and moved to her side. “What is it, Lizzie?” he asked worriedly. “Is it the babe?”

She shook her head and bent at the waist, hands rubbing fretfully against the pain. 

“My back,” she ground out. “The weight of the baby…I can get no relief.” She felt tears spring to her eyes and she blinked furiously to clear them, unwilling to let him see her cry.

“Show me.” He laid a hand on her back and she jerked reflexively away. Grasping her lightly by the arm, he pulled her back. 

“Show me where it hurts, Lizzie.”

She touched her fingers again to the place where the pain was centered, allowing him to bat her hands out of the way. 

“Here?” He pressed his own strong fingers against the spot and pushed with gentle force, wringing a groan from her.

“Yes,” she breathed, biting her lip against the sense of pleasure/pain wrought by his clever fingers. “A little lower,” she whispered, uncaring of propriety when his hand curled over the rounded curve of her bottom as he chased the spasms.

He wrapped his left arm around her middle, holding her in place as he dug and kneaded his knuckles into the small of her back and she bit back a whimper of relief as the spasm finally gave way to his touch. 

Curling her hands around his bracing arm, Lizzie turned her head and pressed her cheek against his bicep. His open palm splayed over her stomach, they both felt the baby move, a foot rippling across the rounded curve of her belly.

Wrapped up in each other, his hand curved protectively over the place where their child rested, her hands clinging to him – she could not help but think this moment more intimate than any that had passed between them before. 

0o0o0o0

 

“He is perfect. And you are…radiant.”

The other people in the room faded into the background as their gazes met and in his eyes she saw reflected the joy she felt in her heart and for one small moment, it was just they three – this small new family.


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks later, she could think of no other way to describe it except to say that she was confounded by her husband.

He was mercurial at best – one minute openly admiring of her and the next hostile and suspicious. He sought her counsel on important matters of state, yet rejected her pleas for the things she held most dear. In one moment, she would see flashes of the good humored and sometimes shy young husband who had visited her in her confinement, and in the next breath stood an autocratic king over whom she held no sway.

She had been raised a princess, the daughter of a beloved king, while he had been a penniless exile dependent on the generosity of others. She was his superior in every way and yet now found herself hostage to his unpredictable moods.

Following the servant sent by the king to fetch her on the eve of her coronation, she wondered which man she would find awaiting her. He confused her; intrigued her; infuriated her, and by the time she swept past the guards who stood at his door, she had worked herself into a temper. And so it was of little surprise to her when the conversation between them quickly deteriorated into hateful discourse.

When he asked if she was grateful for the coronation and to be named as his queen, it was all she could do not to laugh openly in his face.

“I would be thankful if you would free my cousin from the Tower and let my mother be with me.” How could he think her grateful when those she loved suffered the indignities he forced upon them?

“I have said why I cannot.” He sighed, and though his expression asked for understanding, she simply could not give it to him. Her eyes flashed angrily and she folded her arms over her chest, her expression haughty and disdainful and when her jibes picked at his pride, his temper flashed.

“Everywhere I look around me, nobles conspire against me. They smile into my face and then behind me draw their knives.”

Lizzie folded her arms across her chest and smiled with the smug superiority of one who understood what it was to be royal. “That is what it is to be King.”

“Well, it is more than I can bear – each day waiting, wondering if I will live till supper. Wondering if our son will live.”

“Then why did you slaughter Richard if you did not wish to be king?” she cried out.

“Because I have been trained to do it all my life!” he roared.

Startled into silence, she listened as he spoke of a life mapped out for him from the moment of his birth – all without ever once having a say in his own future.

In hearing him speak of a life not lived – she finally found in him a kindred spirit.

“That is what my life has been as well,” she said with the slowly dawning realization that, in this, they were not so very different. “I have been a puppet for my mother’s ambition.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, cold, despite the warmth of the fire dancing in the large hearth. “It was my mother who wanted the throne for me.” Tears clogged her voice. “I would have been content with –”

“With the man you loved.”

His back was to her as he stared into the crackling flames. She watched his shoulders curl downward in defeat and she bit back a sob as he continued to speak.

“I do not ask that you love me in the way you loved him.” He turned and moved toward her and his eyes were dark with misery. “But I had hoped you may come to have a tenderness.” His shoulders rose and fell in a self-deprecating shrug. “Kindness even.”

Lizzie felt an overwhelming sadness at his words.

“And would that be enough for you?” Tears swam in her eyes. “You do not want someone who burns to be with you? Who would ride across a battlefield just to hear your voice?” Her throat was so tight with tears, her words were nearly unintelligible.

“I…”

One tear brimmed over her lashes at the helplessly lonely expression on his face.

“… do not know. I have never had it.”

His chest rose and fell on a long-shuddering sigh. “I know you cannot love me as you did him. I know it is beyond what you can give. I do not ask it. I ask only that you do not conspire against me. At least spare me that humiliation.”

She hesitated, torn between what should be so simple a request from husband to wife, and loyalty to her mother. She wanted to speak, to reassure him. But, the words remained locked in her throat and she watched as an emotionless mask fell over Henry’s face.

“But, of course. You cannot even promise that.”

The mask cracked for a moment and she saw a look of naked betrayal in his eyes before he whirled on his heel and stalked from the room.

0o0o0o0

 

That night she dreamed.

_Dressed in her crimson wedding gown, Arthur cradled in her arms, Lizzie stood with her mother on a field. Behind them stood a legion of York loyalists. Banners snapped in the wind, emblazoned with the white rose of her house._

_The baby cooed and she smiled into his beloved face. She heard her mother suck in a joyful breath and she lifted her gaze from the study of her son and felt dread curl through her at the sight of her husband striding across the open grass toward them._

_He was alone. No army behind him. No armor to protect him. Stripped of shield and sword, clad only in a shirt she had stitched for him worn loose over leather breeches, wholly vulnerable, he continued forward until he stood but a few feet from her._

_“I released your mother because you bid me do so. Is this what you would have, Lizzie?”_

_He swept an arm out to one side and suddenly there appeared a scaffold on the open field where none had been before._

_Resigned to his fate, he climbed the short flight of stairs and stared across the distance toward her._

_“Shall I lay my neck willingly upon the block to satisfy your mother’s blood lust?” He dropped to his knees and braced his hands upon the wooden block._

_“She plots endlessly to put a York king on the throne.”_

_Lizzie turned to the woman at her side and flinched at the triumph shining in her mother’s eyes as Henry shifted to rest his neck upon the block._

_“Will you tell our son of my love for him or will you paint me a villain who deserved an ending such as this?” He stared longingly at the child in her arms. “Remember, wife. Arthur is also Tudor. Can you be sure his York blood will be enough to spare him from slaughter at the hands of your brethren?”_

_He turned his head. Closed his eyes. The air whistled with the sound of the executioner’s axe and Lizzie’s scream._

Panting, Lizzie jerked awake. Her heart pounded with the fear and confusion wrought by the nightmare and she scrambled from her bed to snatch Arthur from his cradle and clutch him to her breasts. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the dream played over and over again in her mind’s eye and she could not help but think that the look of betrayal on Henry’s face as he offered himself up to the executioner was the same look he had worn during their confrontation the prior evening.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her from her morbid thoughts and soon her chamber was flooded with her ladies come to prepare her for the coronation. Exhausted, feeling old beyond her years, Lizzie welcomed the distraction offered by their giddy chatter.

0o0o0o0

 

Despite the pageantry and the elaborate meal, the coronation had a funereal air rather than one of celebration as both king and queen were weighted down by their private thoughts in the aftermath of the confrontation between them the prior evening.

Returning to her chambers at the end of the day, Lizzie tolerated the presence of her ladies as they buzzed about removing her jewels and gown and helping her into her nightclothes. Exhausted, she dismissed them and the baby’s nurse, and taking Arthur into her arms, she settled on the padded seat near the window. Staring through the glass as day gave way to night, her thoughts turned to her mother and the anguish that woman must have felt as the hours passed without Lizzie answering her summons.

The baby grunted and let out a plaintive mewl, drawing her attention away from the window and onto him. Shifting him into one arm, she loosened the ties of her nightgown to expose one breast. The babe rooted for a moment before latching on and Lizzie felt love flood through her with the same rush as the milk from her breast.

She knew noble women of her station did not nurse their own children and, indeed, she employed a wet nurse to feed Arthur throughout the day so that she could go about her duties. But she jealously guarded the last feeding each night before the child was put to bed and the first one upon awakening in the mornings.

She stroked a tender finger over his head, traced the arch of one wispy eyebrow and allowed herself to be soothed by the tender moment between mother and child. The baby’s fingers curled around the side of her breast, tiny fingers flexing open and closed and she could not help but laugh at the greedy sounds he made.

Pulling back at the sound of his mother’s laughter, the baby’s brows furrowed for a moment and he stared upward with a solemn look on his face so reminiscent of Henry, that she felt her heartbeat stutter in response.

The Lady Margaret was right. Arthur was the image of his father. Already his hair had grown enough to begin to form little waves against his scalp and each day she saw a bit more of her husband in their child’s face.

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss against the babe’s forehead and as his mouth slackened and he slid toward sleep, she rose and placed him in the basket near her bed. Blowing out the candles she slid between the sheets and closed her eyes.

But sleep would not come.

She tossed and turned, unable to drive thoughts of Henry from her mind. She felt a rush of pity move through her as she wondered what it would be like to be so alone all your life that you would be willing to settle for basic kindness because you had no hope of ever earning love.

And she thought of her mother, wishing this divide did not exist between them, but knowing that by refusing to heed her mother’s call to stand against Henry, she had severed something vital between herself and Elizabeth. All her life, Lizzie had been aware of a special bond – an invisible cord – that linked her to her mother and grandmother in a way that none of her siblings shared. Her actions today had destroyed that link and the loss was an aching wound to her soul.

Yet… what choice was there? To raise a hand against Henry was to raise a hand against Arthur. And that she would never do.

That part of her life was over. A curtain had been drawn and she was a child no longer. She was a mother. A wife. An anointed queen.

Flinging back the covers, she stood and thrust her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown. Taking the sleeping Arthur into her arms, she carried him to the king’s chambers determined that this night they would take their first steps towards becoming a family.

0o0o0o0

 

Thought stymied by Lady Margaret’s unwelcome arrival into Henry’s bedchamber, she persisted, returning to him the next evening. Dismissing the nurse who had carried Arthur’s little bed, Lizzie laid the sleeping babe into his cozy nest, tenderly brushing her fingers over the downy curls atop his head.

“If you are to make a habit of this,” Henry said with a curious expression on his face, “perhaps it would make more sense to keep a second bed for him here in my chambers so there is no need to cart his bed from your chamber to mine.”

Lizzie felt her heart thud against her breast and gave him a shy smile as she eased into the bed beside her husband. One of the things she found most attractive in him was his obvious love for their son.

The mattress rustled when he shifted onto his side to face her and she sought his hand with hers.

“I… I want to thank you for agreeing to allow Teddy to come live with us.”

“Is that why you have come to me?” A hooded expression fell over his face, masking the look of open pleasure that had been there seconds earlier. “To honor a debt?”

“No.” She squeezed his hand, anxious that he should understand. “I… I do not want to be at odds with you for the rest of our lives, Henry.” She stared down at their hands, smoothing a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. “I know there are many obstacles between us, but I have come to realize there are things we have in common. Ways in which we are not so very far apart.”

“Arthur.”

She smiled. “Yes. Arthur. But also the weight of our mother’s expectations.” Her shoulder rose and fell in a helpless shrug. “I have known the burden of my mother’s plans for my life but had never considered before that in this way we are very much the same.”

“And you think that enough to build a marriage upon?”

“I think we are young and have a long life together ahead of us. I am but twenty years old and am already exhausted at the thought of being at odds with you for the rest of our lives.”

She watched him closely and saw expressions of hope and suspicion chase their way across his face.

“Do you not wish for peace between us?” she asked in a small voice.

“You know well I do, Lizzie. I said as much to you when we spoke before,” he said with a pointed reference to their heated conversation on the eve of her coronation. “You gave me little cause to hope you felt the same.”

She felt her hackles rise at the barely veiled barb and fought back the instinct to lash out in response. Subsiding against the pillow she recalled the look of betrayal that had been painted across his features that evening; remembered the horror of the nightmare that followed their confrontation.

Swallowing against the hard lump lodged in her throat, she nodded in silent acknowledgment of his words. Instead of speaking, she laid her hand upon his chest and shifted closer until only a hairsbreadth of space existed between them.

Henry’s chest rose and fell beneath her hand. The wary look on his face fell away, softening to reveal a more open and hopeful expression and Lizzie was struck by how much younger he suddenly appeared.

He ran a finger over her brow, tracing a path down to the line of her jaw. Curling one arm over her hip, he tugged her toward him, closing the gap between them, lowering his mouth to hers in a searching kiss. She shifted, twining her fingers into his hair as their mouths met and parted again and again.

When at last they broke apart, he smiled to feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath her jaw and Lizzie cast a wary glance over her shoulder.

“What are the chances of your mother interrupting again?” She lowered her voice to a whisper lest that formidable woman be standing on the other side of the heavy oak door.

Henry rolled his eyes in response.

“Firstly,” he held up one finger before her face, “she will be at prayer in the chapel right now.”

“And secondly?” Lizzie asked with some relief.

“Secondly, it is the prerogative of kings to be able to make laws when and how they deem desirable, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then, wife, I declare it the law of the land that henceforth there shall be no mention of my mother whilst you and I are abed!”

Though his tone was severe, his eyes were lit with mischief and she giggled in agreement.

“If you don’t mind, I wish to return to a more pleasurable occupation.” He brushed his lips over hers and her laughter died away as desire once again overtook them.

Fingers tugging on the ribbon tie at the throat of her nightgown, he pulled it free, pushing the soft fabric aside to press heated kisses along her shoulder.

“Henry.” Moaning his name, she shifted restlessly beneath him.

He grasped the hem of her gown, raising it slowly, his knuckles trailing a path along the soft skin of her thighs and she shivered, arching her back, grinding her pelvis against his.

“Henry.” Again, his name was pulled from her on a long groan and she tugged impatiently at the clothing that separated them, raking her short nails along his spine.

Her name slipped from his lips on a long sigh as he pressed his mouth against the soft flesh beneath her jaw, panting as they ground against each other in a pleasurable agony of delayed gratification.

She ran the sole of her foot over the back of his calf, shifting so that her legs were on either side of him and he came to rest in the cradle of her hips.

“Lizzie,” he gasped, hips rocking against her in a needy, rhythmic pulse and she twined both hands into his hair, fusing her mouth to his.

“Wait.” He tore his mouth from hers. “Stop. Lizzie. Stop for a moment.”

“No.” Eyes closed, she arched her back again and they both moaned as his heated flesh rubbed with delicate friction against hers. “Don’t stop.”

“Only…” He framed her hips with two wide-palmed hands, halting the restless grinding of their bodies. “Only a few nights ago you told me you were not yet recovered from your childbed,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

“Oh.” Cheeks flushed, she fell still beneath him, unable to meet his eyes with her own.

“Lizzie.” Laying a thumb beneath her chin, he forced her head toward him. “Were you speaking truthfully that night, or…?”

“Truthfully?” She gathered the courage to meet his gaze. Seeing a muscle ticking furiously in his jaw and the wariness in his eyes, she mourned the loss of the easy passion they had shared only seconds prior. “Truthfully, I do not know. Until this evening, I have had no desire to discuss the matter with the midwife.”

Braced above her on his elbows, his gaze roved over her face searchingly, trying to determine whether she spoke honestly or whether this was yet another lie.

“You will speak with the midwife tomorrow,” he said, his tone at once both question and autocratic decree.

“Yes.” She nodded eagerly, relieved to see the scowl fade from his expression. “But... what of now?” She shifted and he hissed out a breath, deliberately grinding his hips against hers in response.

“Now,” he breathed against her lips, “there are many other pleasurable ways in which to pass the time.” He palmed her breast through the soft fabric still covering it, scraping his teeth over the tendon running through her neck from jaw to collarbone.

“Such as?” Winding her arms and legs about him in a four limbed embrace, her hips began to rise and fall against his in a lazy rhythm. “Perhaps I should ring for a servant to bring a chessboard, my lord,” she suggested, flashing a deceptively innocent smile.

“Witch,” he mumbled before tearing the gown from her body and tossing his own nightshirt to the floor.

And with lips and tongue and hands he showed her exactly what he meant.


	5. Chapter 5

Lost in her troubled thoughts as the small boat glided toward the dock, she glanced up to see her husband’s lonely figure standing high above on the parapet. Though she could not make out his expression, his rage was obvious in every rigid line of his body.

Lizzie closed her eyes. What to say, she wondered. How to explain? Whatever tentative steps they had taken to come together were now at risk and she knew she had only herself to blame. And yet, she thought as she stepped onto the dock, she did not know what else she could have done. She had to see her mother. Had to find out if the Lady Margaret was correct. Had to know if Elizabeth was plotting again against Henry.

“Even you,” Henry seethed as she stepped through the garden gate. “Even you.” Betrayal was painted across his features. “You lied to me and you are as treacherous as she is.” 

He brushed past her, almost incoherent in his rage. 

“Henry!”

He stopped when she called his name, helpless – despite everything – to ignore the desperation in her cry. 

“I went to my mother, yes. Because you said you were going to execute her.” Her words, raw with unshed tears, seemed torn from her throat and he whirled about, unable to believe that she would try to turn this on him.

“I was a fool to think that what had passed between us these last few nights meant anything to you,” he spat. “Do you come to my bed to manipulate me to do your will? To beg that I free your cousin – again – from the Tower. To release your mother so that she may plot more easily against me?”

“No!” she cried, reaching for him, recoiling in shock when he took one stumbling step away from her.

“Henry,” she pleaded, but he ignored her entreaty, steeling himself from whatever lies might fall from her pretty lips 

“Perhaps her plan is already in place. Perhaps it will be by your hand that I will find my end,” he accused. “Your blade between my ribs one night whilst I sleep.”

He watched her transform before his eyes as she pulled an invisible mantle of dignity about her. She was every inch the queen she had been raised to be and he could not help but feel a curious glimmer of admiration as she fought for her composure. For his part, he was fairly vibrating with a need to tear something, or someone apart so that he might vent the sense of rage and betrayal he felt.

“I went behind your back, but it was to help us,” she said urgently. “To see if she was plotting with Burgundy.”

“And is she?” he asked tonelessly.

“I don’t know because she told me nothing!”

Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to walk away.

“Because my mother no longer trusts me!” 

He could not help but turn back at the sound of Lizzie’s voice cracking and on her face he saw a glimpse of despair break her iron composure. 

“She saw before I did myself that I am Tudor now.”

He shook his head in automatic denial of her words. His wife’s loyalties had always been with York and he reminded himself now that every hard fought inch of ground he had thought closed between them was a lie. But then…

“The birth of Arthur makes me so, whether I like it or not, because I shall never stand against him. Our son puts me on your side forever.”

…and this – Henry was forced to admit privately – was one thing he could not deny. Her love for their son was evident in every line of her body and every breath she drew.

“You may disbelieve it if you choose, but you are all I have.”

He stared at her, unsure of what to believe.

“Our family is all that I have.” Her words were thick with tears. “And if you do not trust me…” 

Stepping back as she brushed past him, he was more confused now than ever.

0o0o0o0

On the eve of battle, Lizzie paced the confines of her chamber, consumed by thoughts of Henry meeting his demise on the field. She thought too of their argument that morning – and feared sending him off to war with harsh words between them. 

The memory of that lonely figure standing atop the parapet watching her return after sneaking away was forever etched on her memory. In that moment it was if the blinders had finally fallen away from her and she could not help but begin to understand the pressures he withstood each day. The paranoia felt by all kings was increased in him by his isolation. In times of trouble, her father had always had her mother at his side, bolstering him when he would falter, but in Henry she saw a man who could look to no one without doubting their motive. 

Even his formidable mother – though she loved him fiercely – constantly manipulated him to suit her agenda.

And in his wife, he could find no comfort. 

She had meant it when she said he and Arthur were all she had in this world. Just as she now realized that she and Arthur were all he had. 

No more, she thought fiercely. No more doubt and disloyalty. It was time to end the distrust between them and to become a family. 

Her mind made up, she gathered Arthur in her arms and made her way to her husband. 

 

0o0o0o0

Thoughts of the upcoming battle against a peasant child raised from the gutter by the Duchess Margaret to steal his throne clashed with the tumultuous memories of the confrontation with Lizzie that morning and Henry knew there would be no sleep for him this night. He looked up with surprise to see her enter his chambers, Arthur cradled in her arms.

“I thought you would like to say goodbye to him.”

Braced for yet another battle with his wife, Henry pushed himself up against the pillows. 

“There is something I would like to ask of you. Do not fight.”

“You would have me stay here? Let them storm the gates?” he asked disbelievingly. 

“Of course not.” 

The baby mewled softly, his sleep disturbed by the biting tones of his parents’ words and she swayed gently back and forth to soothe him as her voice took on a pleading tone.

“Lead your men onto the field but do not risk your own life. Do not fight in person.”

“If I die,” he sneered, “you would be rid of me. Your mother safe. Your cousin free to take the throne.”

Confused by her words, he watched as she laid the baby on his bed.

“How can I prove that I am with you except to ask you not to die?” 

His bewilderment grew only deeper when she took a small pair of scissors from the pocket of her dressing gown and snipped a lock of hair from the sleeping baby’s head.

“While you are on the field and I am at Maggie’s wedding, take this with you.” She pressed the silky lock of hair into his palm and he instinctively closed his fingers in a protective fist around it.

“Promise me you will not fight,” she begged. “Come home so we can start our lives together.”

His thoughts were in turmoil for he was unable to reconcile the woman who only that morning had betrayed him – who had gone behind is back in so secretive a manner – with the woman who stood now before him, pleading tears in her eyes. 

Gesturing towards the baby, he held out his arms so that she could hand their son to him. Cradling the boy in his embrace, he tightened the blankets about him and traced a gentle finger over the tip of his nose and the bow of his little mouth.

“You asked me this morning to trust you,” Henry said, staring into the baby’s peaceful face. “But Lizzie – you must understand that goes both ways.” He looked up. “You should have told me you were going to see your mother and why.”

She sank down onto the edge of the mattress, fingers plucking restlessly at the blankets.

“I know,” she admitted. “But it is difficult when you hold her very life in your hands.” 

“She holds her own fate in her hands,” he corrected pointedly. “Surely it cannot be inconceivable to you that I will not free her as long as she continues these endless plots against my life.”

“I know,” she sighed again. “I do not like it, but I understand.” She drew in a deep breath. “So long as my mother continues down this path, I will not ask you again to free her though I beg you would spare her life.”

“She will remain under watch at the abbey and I shall not raise a hand against her. But, Lizzie. If she continues to come against me, I cannot…”

The baby stirred, one arm flailing out from beneath the swaddling and he arched his back, snuffling in his sleep. Henry lifted the boy to his shoulder and ran his hand over the tiny back in soothing circles until the child settled again into a peaceful slumber.

“I know little enough of how to be a king. I was trained most of my life to be a soldier, but I do not crave battle for battle’s sake. Still, I cannot do as you ask, Lizzie. If I am unwilling to risk my own life for my crown, how can I ask others to risk theirs for it? If I do not fight now to protect my throne from a boy lifted from nothing by my enemies, then what has it all been for?”

Henry tilted his head to press his cheek against the downy fuzz of hair atop their son’s head. 

“All those years spent in exile from my country. From my mother. Never having a home to call my own. Until now.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “This kingdom is my home. Arthur is my home and if you truly meant what you said this morning, what you promised just now – then you too are my home. If that is not worth fighting for, then I beg you tell me what is.”

She did not respond and he fell silent, helplessly staring at her retreating back when she took the child from his arms. He watched her carry the baby across the room and tuck him into his small bed with a tender kiss. Saw her back straighten like a ramrod, her hands clenched tightly on the woven edges of the baby’s cradle and he wondered what she was thinking. 

She turned and they stared at one another for a long, charged moment, each of them barely daring to breathe as she tugged her hair free of its thick braid. She laid her hands on the belt of her robe as she continued to hold his gaze with her own.

“I spoke with the midwife today.” She shrugged out of the robe and carelessly let it fall to the floor.

“Did you?” he rasped, eyes fixed on the slender fingers plucking the silken ties at the throat of her chemise. 

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded, pulling the ribbon loose as she moved toward him. 

“And what –” He stopped to clear his throat. “And of what did you and the midwife speak?” he asked hoarsely.

Brushing the chemise from her shoulders, she caught it with both hands, offering him only a tantalizing peek of the high, rounded curves of her breasts above the soft linen.

“Oh, we spoke of this and that,” she said on an airy sigh. “We spoke of Arthur and how well he is growing.”

“And is that all you spoke of?” He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, plucking at the sheet covering his hips. 

“Nay. I also confided to her that at times after feeding Arthur, I am often quite sore.” Reaching the side of the bed, she let the gown slip a bit further, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. “Do you see, my lord?” She cupped her hands around the swollen curves and he surged to his knees beside her. 

“I think you seek to tease me, wife.” 

He raised his eyes to her face and watched her bite her lip to hide the smile trembling at the corner of her mouth. Lifting one hand, he traced a forefinger over the pale blue path of a vein hidden under the translucent skin and over the swollen tip of one nipple. A fat droplet of milk beaded up at his gentle attention and he gathered it on his thumb, his tongue flicking out to taste.

“Sweet,” he breathed. She trembled when he laid his head upon her breast for a long, tender moment, and then his fingers clenched into her chemise, pushing the soft fabric over her hips until it pooled around her feet. Framing her hips in his hands, he felt her fingers curl around his wrists and she took one step back, shaking her hair over her back and allowed him to look his fill. 

“As I recall…” He reached for the hem of his nightshirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor near her gown. “I commanded that you speak with the midwife of one topic which is of great importance to me.” Ducking his head, he traced a path with the tip of his tongue from breasts to the rounded swell of her belly, stopping to swirl around the rim of her navel. She gasped, her fingers knotting into the thick curls atop his head, tugging insistently until he surged up to take her mouth with his own.

“I trust in at least this one matter, you were obedient to my wishes,” he murmured against her lips.

“Aye, my lord. Am I not always an obedient subject?” 

Her shriek of laughter as he tumbled her to the bed drew a fretful mewl from the babe and she clapped a hand over her mouth until the child quieted, snuffling in his sleep.

“Quietly, my love,” Henry commanded. And, prying her fingers from her lips, he covered her body with his, capturing any sounds she made that night with his mouth. 

 

0o0o0o0

 

Lizzie awoke the next morning to the sound of her husband’s voice insistently calling her name. She opened her eyes to find him standing at the side of the bed already dressed in a soldier’s undergarments.

“I did not want to leave without saying goodbye.”

Rising to her knees, she tugged on his arm until he obeyed her silent command and sat down on the edge of the mattress. As soon as he was settled, she swung one leg over his, wincing as the cold steel of his chain linked chausses bit into the tender flesh of her thighs. He cupped her bottom in his hands, his wide palms providing a warm barrier between her skin and her hard perch.

“Do you have what I gave you last night?” she whispered and he nodded, patting a hand over his heart where he had tucked away the lock of Arthur’s hair.

“Show me.” She tore at the closure of the heavily padded shirt he wore until it fell open to reveal a tiny muslin pouch pinned inside. She ghosted trembling fingers over it and then, pushing his shirt aside, she laid her lips on the ball of his shoulder, sucking the hard flesh into her mouth.

“Are you branding me, my love?” he asked, burying his face in her hair.

“I cannot send you into battle wearing my favor as if it is nothing more than a joust.” She raised her head to study her handiwork. “But I can send you off wearing my mark.” She ran a thumb over the bruise she had worked into his flesh. “See that you come home with no other blemishes upon your person.” 

He smiled at the haughty demand of her tone and caught her mouth with his own in a desperate kiss until at last he tore free.

“I must go,” he rasped, his mouth buried against the soft flesh of her throat and she tightened her arms around him in a wordless objection. Prying her hands from him, he shifted her onto the mattress and rose to his feet.

“Do not get up.” Bending down, he pressed his mouth against the palms of her hands and smiled when she curled her fingers into fists as if to trap his kisses in her grip. “I would have you stay here in our bed where it is warm.” And with one last fierce kiss, he turned and strode toward the door.

“Henry!” 

Kneeling in the middle of the bed, her thick golden hair tumbling in mad curls all about her, her voice rang out with fierce demand. 

“Come home to me,” she said, echoing her words of the night prior. “Come home so we can start our lives together.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes filled with tender promise. “I will.”

And then stopping only to brush gentle fingers over his sleeping son’s head, he strode from the room.

0o0o0o0

 

Sated, Arthur’s mouth fell slack around her nipple and she drew her robe closed before raising him to her shoulder and rubbing circles against his back. The level of noise in the courtyard increased and she hurried to the window. Henry strode into view, attentively talking with Jasper as the men made their way toward their waiting horses.

Once mounted, Henry moved to the front of the column and as his troops fell into place behind him, he stopped suddenly. Twisting in his saddle, she saw him raise his head toward the windows glinting in the early morning light and she knew he was searching for her. 

Reaching out, she shoved frantically at the latches securing the window and pushed at the glass until it swung outward, its hinges creaking in protest at the violence of her motion. Shifting Arthur in her arms so that he too faced the courtyard below, she pulled the blanket more tightly about him while she shivered in the chill of the morning air. Breasts heaving beneath the silk of her robe as she stifled the urge to cry out, she raised her chin proudly and lifted her hand in a silent farewell. Henry touched his fingers first over his heart and then to the place on his shoulder where her brand lay hidden and then lifting the reins in one hand, wheeled his horse about and again took up his place at the head of the column and she watched until he disappeared from view.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry sat astride his horse watching as the peasant child who would have been elevated to the throne if the Duchess Margaret had her way was led off to await his fate. He waited until his Uncle Jasper was surrounded by the healers before dismounting and striding across the courtyard. Shouldering his way into the keep, he was met by his mother and members of the Privy Council, all clamoring for details of the battle. 

Gulping deeply from a chalice of wine, he washed the grit of war from his mouth, standing docilely while others stripped him of the outer layers of his armor – and all the while his gaze roved impatiently over the crowd gathered in the main hall of the keep. 

“Where is my wife?” he asked, cutting off his mother’s husband in mid-sentence.

“I am here, Henry.” Lifting his head, he saw her standing atop the wide column of steps, Arthur perched on her hip. The golden mass of her hair was held back from her face by a wide band of intricately tatted lace. She wore a simple gown the color of grass and she appeared to him as fresh as a spring morn.

Blindly shoving the chalice into the hands of the person nearest him, he made his way across the hall, ignoring all who tried to gain his attention. Still clad in his chain mail, he strode up the stone stairs determinedly, stopping only when he was one step below her and for a long moment everything and everyone else faded away as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Arthur gurgled and slapped out with one hand from his perch on his mother’s hip, breaking the spell and Henry snatched the boy up into his arms, swooping him over his head, a boisterous laugh spilling from his own lips before settling the baby against his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around Lizzie’s waist, he guided her up the stairs and into his chamber. 

The door closed behind them, sealing the royal family away from the rest of the castle and Lizzie hastened to set Arthur down on a thick fur rug near the darkened fireplace, stuffing a rattle in his hands before turning back to face her husband.

And then they were crashing into one another, mouths meeting in a desperate kiss. Henry shoved her up against a wall near the door and their hands grappled to peel away his hauberk, the finely linked chain mail falling to the floor with a dull clatter. Her fingers tore at the fasteners of his padded shirt, pausing only long enough to unpin the little pouch before pushing the garment to the floor. 

She ran a thumb over the all but faded mark on his shoulder, her lips pursing with disapproval as she took in the myriad of bruises and contusions covering her husband’s torso.

“I thought I told you to come home to me unscathed.” Her fingers traced a delicate path over one particularly livid bruise covering his ribs. 

“Aye, love. I did my best to obey.” He hissed in pain, but checked the instinct to twist away, instead allowing her to catalogue his injuries and assure herself there were none which were life-threatening. He closed his eyes, when she ducked her head and began to press wordless kisses against each scrape and bruise that littered his flesh, laying a gentle hand on the crown of her head as he felt the dampness of her tears.

She raised glittering eyes to him and then launched herself at him. Fingers buried in his hair, their mouths met in a greedy kiss, lips parting and releasing and then meeting again and again. 

“Hurry,” she sobbed against his throat and he hooked two fingers into the low neckline of her gown, tugging it down. Hard hands spanning her waist, he pinned her to the wall with the press of his hips into hers as he covered her breast with his hungry mouth.

He felt her squirm, her hands moving between them to grapple with the straps securing the chainmail on his legs and her breath came in great pants against his ear. Knotting her fingers in his hair, she dragged his mouth back to hers.

“Wait,” he gasped, tearing his mouth away and struggling for calm. “I am filthy with the sweat and grime of battle and a long march home. Let me wash and then –” 

“I do not care,” she gasped. “I don’t want to stop.” 

He groaned into her mouth when her hands gave up on trying to loosen his mail and instead moved to stroke his length through the padded undergarment protecting his legs from the heavy mail. He shoved her gown up to her hips, his own fingers moving quickly to find her wet and waiting. 

The sound of his mother ordering servants about outside his chamber distracted him and he turned his head from her.

“Do not stop,” she mewled, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she arched her hips and ground herself against his calloused fingertips. “Please…” she sighed brokenly. “Do not stop.”

The door began to swing open and he shifted his body to shield hers from view. 

“Out!” he roared as a servant bearing steaming buckets of water entered the room. “OUT!”

A choked sound drew his gaze back to his wife as the servant scuttled hastily from the room and he grinned to see laughter warring with desire in her eye.

“Now,” she whispered and he hitched her up with ease so that her legs could wrap tightly around his waist. One strong arm wrapped under her bottom supporting her weight, while he tore open the ties of his chausses with his free hand.

Twin groans of relief filled the air as he sank into her and then they began to move. Her hands streaked over his shoulders, short nails scoring the smooth skin of his back and his mouth found the tender flesh of her throat, teeth scraping over the place where her pulse pounded. There was a sense of madness, a desperation to their joining, until at last the pleasure broke over them like a wave.

Dazed and spent, he felt her legs tremble, then slide from around his hips and she sagged weakly in his arms. He felt a strange lethargy overtake him and he turned his head toward the bed which seemed suddenly so very far away. 

Faint voices could still be heard outside the chamber and they shared a weak laugh before reluctantly separating. He tugged the bodice of her gown into place as she smoothed her hair and ran her hands over her skirts while he tucked himself back into his chausses.

“Go.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Else they’ll never leave us in peace.”

He watched her settle her features into her most regal expression as she marched to the door. He settled onto the floor to play with the baby and heard the quiet murmur of her voice as she directed a small army of servants into the attached bathing chamber. 

“Your bath awaits, Sire.”

He looked up to find her standing in the doorway, a small smirk dancing about her lips as she arched a brow at him. He rose, carrying the now yawning babe to his bed before moving toward her. Stripping out of his clothes, he sank into the steaming water with a grateful sigh. She settled on a low stool near the tub and offered him a small platter heaped with cold meats, cheese and fruit.

“Your mother informs me that your privy council awaits you.”

“Let them wait.” He let out a small groan as the hot water worked to ease his aching muscles and closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the tub.

“But –” 

“I am king, am I not?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Have I not only just arrived home victorious in defending my crown?”

She smiled at his petulant tone. “Indeed, you have my lord.”

“Then they can all wait one day,” he groused. “I am not leaving these rooms for the rest of the day – nor are you!”

“As you wish, Henry.”

He pried one eye open and peered at her – wary of the docile tone she had adopted. “You are suddenly very obedient, madam,” he noted as he closed his eyes again. 

“You are my king and husband,” she replied blandly. “Am I not meant to obey you in all things?”

“When it suits you,” he grunted, peering at her through his lashes when she let out a merry peal of laughter. 

“Well then, my lord, in this I am most happy to obey.”

“While you’re being so agreeable, I cannot help but notice this tub is more than adequate to accommodate two persons.”

“Yes, Sire, it is a tub of a generous size – befitting a king.”

“And a queen, I daresay.” Arching one brow, he made a thorough study of her. “Off with your clothes, Lizzie.” The steel underlying his command was belied by the merry twinkle in his eyes and, indeed, in this matter Lizzie was more than happy to comply.

0o0o0o0

 

Her hand still clutching Henry’s, Lizzie was dimly aware of his mother’s low-voiced scolding, urging him to reconsider his decision to show clemency to the dowager queen. 

“She would have you dead and instead you show her mercy!” Lady Margaret hissed.

“Enough, Mother.”

Lizzie jerked in her seat, startled by the anger she had never before seen directed at his mother. 

“I have made my decision and you will abide by it.”

From the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw him flick his hand, dismissing his mother and all of the other retainers gathered before them. She watched as the boy – shoulders slumped with relief – was led toward his new post in the kitchens. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths in an effort to steady her rapidly beating pulse.

“Will you join me my lady?” Twisting his hand beneath hers, Henry rose from his throne to stand before her and Lizzie opened her eyes to find him gazing kindly upon her.

“Happily, your Grace.” Knees trembling, she rose to her feet and laid her free hand against his chest. Staring into her husband’s eyes, she wanted desperately to thank him again for sparing her mother’s life, but the words would not make it past the lump in her throat. Instead, tears brimmed over her lashes and he drew her into his arms, hushing her sobs against his chest with soft murmurs.

“Come now.” Cradling her face in his hands, he swiped his thumbs under her eyes and dried her tears.  
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her from the throne room.

She followed where he led, through the main hall where he dismissed all who sought him out with a shake of his head or a flick of his fingers, guiding her up the stairs toward the royal apartments. Curious, she followed him into the nursery. Taking Arthur into her arms at Henry’s bidding, she trailed behind him as he led her into his chambers through one door and out another.

“I have something for you.”

She passed through the door he held open. Her breath catching on a tiny gasp, she turned in a circle, taking in the now empty chamber.

“I had my mother leave.”

She stared in wonder at the Tudor rose, the emblem of their house which had been carefully painted in a place of prominence above the fireplace and turned to face her husband who hovered near the doorway.

“You are the Queen. They are your rooms.” His voice was filled with an unspoken apology. “I have kept my promise,” he said as he advanced toward her. “And now you will keep yours. We will be happy.”

There was a lightness to his bearing. His victory on the field, securing his crown in so decisive a battle had raised his spirits to heights such as she had never seen in him before – as if, for the first time, he truly believed himself to be king. Knowing he had held the fates of the boy and her mother in his hands had weighed on him and with those twin burdens lifted, his face shone with hope for their future.

Lizzie wanted desperately to believe in that hope. But she knew that Elizabeth would never give up and she could not bear the thought that Henry might die at her mother’s hand – knew that she would never forgive herself if he should fall victim to her mother’s plots for it was plain that it was for her sake alone that Henry had chosen to spare her mother’s life. 

“You know she will not give up,” she cautioned in a whisper. “My mother.”

“Lizzie,” he sighed. “She has done her worst and look at us.” He leaned down to press a tender kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “We are still here.”

She turned her head from side-to-side, gazing about her rooms and glancing through the open door to his chamber just beyond. In her mind’s eye she could see Arthur and the other children that – God willing they should be blessed with in the future – running between their parents’ chambers. She could hear the happiness of their laughter; could imagine the love and indulgence on Henry’s face as he played and wrestled with them.

Aching for that future, wanting desperately for it to become real, she laid a hand on her husband’s face and with Arthur sandwiched securely between them, she raised herself onto her toes and laid her lips on Henry’s.

Sealing the promise with a kiss.

End


End file.
